Happy Birthday
by Nights Sleepless
Summary: Random Sarah/Derek fic, dedicated to Charlotte Reese, for your birthday.


Don't know how well you'll like this, it's pretty much just random. But, the idea occured to me and I'd be foolish not to write it.

Happy Birthday, Charlotte Reese.

* * *

Something was off about Derek today, Sarah observed. It wasn't something obvious, no it took a little more than half the day for her to see it. What really caught her attention was the way he studied the peanut butter sandwich she had made him and John for lunch. It was like he was seeing something that wasn't there. Then his head gave a slight shake before he blinked and started eating. Maybe he was just over exhausted.

But he was more than eager to go running off to spy on a man, whose name was written on blood on the wall. He even looked extremely alert. But he wasn't constantly watching her like he normally was. She hated the way he made her feel under his eyes. Derek didn't nessicarily intimidate her, far from it, but she felt small and self-conscious under his gaze. But now that he seemed to be lost in something else and his eyes weren't falling on her; _her_ eyes were the ones falling on _him. _

With John stuck in his room researching on the computer, and Cameron off only God knows where, Sarah was left to make dinner. It wasn't often she had the chance, but today seemed to be uncharactisically uneventful. Maybe she should make spaghetti? It was easy enough, and stomach filling. Pulling out the appropriate ingredients and utensils, she began to work. As the noodles boiled, as well as the premade sauce, she cut up veggies for a salad. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Derek walk in and lean against the counter. He peered over at her, and she tried to focus on not cutting herself.

"What?" She asked after a moment when he didn't look away.

"Nothing, just used to peanut butter sandwiches and pizza." He said gruffly. Sarah glanced up at him, narrowing her eyes when he pulled up a chair and sat opposite the counter as her. It wasn't often he liked to socialize with her; this must be about something else. Probably about John, or Cameron, or some valuable information regarding the world ending. Or, Sarah considered almost bitterly, he may just feel up for a good fight.

"And?" She asked expectantly, moving from the lettuce to the tomatoes.

"That's all." He answered, looking at her with the smug look she hated. Just seeing it made her angry. It amazed her how much he could get her blood hot. Every time she blamed it on the anger, although Cameron liked to differ what with her statistics and observations.

As her thoughts wondered off, she didn't notice her hand creeping closer and closer to the slicing knife. Until she felt the pain of consequence. Dropping the knife on the cutting board, she pulled her hand back quickly. A thick line of red wound from the index finger on her left hand, sideways toward her finger nail. An inch at most, but it wasn't deep. Sighing she reached to grab a rag from the counter, but when she turned to grab it, she stopped confused when it wasn't there. Glancing towards where Derek had been sitting, her brow furrowed when his seat was empty.

And then she felt his fingers wrap around her left wrist, pulling him around to face him. She almost wanted to ask him how he had gotten there without her noticing, since she pretty much noticed everything, but her mouth wouldn't open. Eyes focused on her hand, he took the rag she had been looking for, and gently placed it on her cut. Her mouth twitched, the accusing and harsh words telling him she could do it by herself were at the tip of her tongue. But some invisible tape was over her mouth and she couldn't say anything, only stare at his face.

"It's not deep, you won't need any stitches." He told her, his voice straight to the point. Sarah took a small step back, noticing how close they were, but didn't pull back. Even though she didn't fully realize it, she liked the warmth of his hand still clutching her wrist. They way he kept her hand to him, but allowing her to pull away if that's what she wanted. Stepping back, but still holding her wrist, he reached behind him into the cupboard and pulling out their shabby first aid kit. It consisted of peroxide, cotton balls, band aids, bandages, and medical tape. Of course, they kept a more extensive medical kit under her bed.

She placed her hand on the rag to keep it on her hand as he placed the bag on the counter and pulled out the peroxide and cotton balls. He had to let go of her wrist to drip the peroxide on a cotton ball. She tried to ignore the cold that engulfed her bare wrist, although she couldn't help but shiver. Again he grabbed her wrist and she pulled the rag away so he could dab her cut with the cotton ball. "Why are you doing this?" Sarah asked, finally finding her voice.

He was quiet as he opened a band aid and placed it over her cut carefully. But he didn't let her wrist go. After a moment he looked up at her in the eyes. She made sure her eyes look cold and accusing. His own eyes look guarded. After a moment of him just staring at her, and she was tempted to ask again, he opened his mouth. "Because Sarah Connor doesn't cut herself slicing vegetables." Her mouth twitched, wanting to frown, before she pulled her hand away, roughly.

But he didn't back down, instead, kept staring at her. "You've been acting strange all day."

He sighed, this getting him, and looked away. "It's nothing." His voiced sounded clipped and guarded. That was just proof right there to Sarah. Turning around, she picked the knife back up and gathered the vegetables to resume cutting. But a hand reached from behind her and enclosed around her hand and the handle of the knife. Her breath stopped as she felt his other hand gently grab her elbow, and his chest leaning into her back. "I'll do it." He told her, his hot breath on her ear. Was it just her was his heat radiating from him and hitting her like a tidal wave?

"I can do it." She told him, through clenched teeth, her grip tightening around the knife. She watched his hand slowly loosen, before letting go completely. His hand lingered however, before he leaned away, pulling away from her. He didn't make a sound as he turned to clean up the first aid kit and she resumed cutting the vegetables. Not looking behind, she knew he was leaning against the counter watching her intently. "You're lying." She said after she had finished cutting.

"What?" He asked after a moment.

Using her hand to scrape the salad into a bowl, she sighed. "It's something." Why couldn't she just ignore him? It's what she normally would do.

"If you say so..." He told her, and she gritted her teeth. Her mistake for asking. Turning, she stopped short when she saw him standing at the stove, slowly stirring the spaghetti sauce. He looked so out of place, his dark shirt tight against his muscles, concealing his tattoos and scars. A man who has seen too much death, no doubt causing it himself. His light eyes were penetrating the sauce, and she couldn't help but think he was picturing something else. After a moment she found herself staring, but didn't care, leaning against the counter. Dragging her eyes down to her injured hand, she ran her fingers over the band aid, which had darkened from her blood.

Sarah Connor didn't cut herself while making a salad. She didn't stare at people like Derek Reese. She would have bandaged herself. But the whole day seemed different. With Derek's odd behavior, and her own. With the lack of gunfire and explosions. With the smell of spaghetti filling the room. Still, she examined the band aid and how it made her feel weak...and normal. She was used to bullet wounds and broken bones. It was nice to have a simple cut that had nothing to do with being Sarah Connor. That didn't need an excuse or over-examination.

She watched, indifferent, as Derek finished preparing the dinner. Maybe this was his kitchen knife cut for him tonight. To have something...not chaotic. She was just surprised he knew what do. Staring over her shoulder twenty-four seven finally came in handy. Looking down at her shoes, she let these thoughts flow through her mind with ease. Another pair of shoes entered her vision, and she looked up, bobbing her head back at how closely Derek was standing in front of her. Why did he always have to do that, it was aggravating.

"It's done." He explained, not flinching.

"You should make dinner more often." Sarah teased, trying to smile, but it sounded weak and looked forced. His blank stare was beginning to drive her insane. But it seemed like a game to him, so she played along and stared back at him. His hand reached over and took hers, pulling up to look at the band aid. How was it some of the smallest things he does enrages her so easily? Running his fingers over the band aid, she pulled her hand away roughly, not even trying to mask the annoyance on her face.

"You should make sure that doesn't get infected." He warned her, his eyes moving from her hand to her eyes. Like she's never been hurt before.

"You don't want to tell me what you problem is, fine." Sarah snapped, shoving by him to go get John for dinner.

"It's my birthday." His voice didn't portray any emotion, just his normal guarded tone. Sarah hesitated at the doorway, her back facing him, reaching out to brush her finger along the wood. Sighing, she rolled her eyes at herself before speaking again, continuing walking.

"Happy birthday."


End file.
